


Another Little Bit

by Lortan



Series: A bit or a bite [1]
Category: Redwall Series - Brian Jacques
Genre: And now another reversal of the roles!, But she's better then Mayzie, F/M, Good is probably the wrong word here, Instead of a bad mouse, She's still crazy murderous and possibly cannibalistic, We have a good fox, kind of, possibly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 01:46:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15920400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lortan/pseuds/Lortan
Summary: Della. A fox. Generally crazy and likely to kill other foxes, but also a very good seamstress. And also skilled with a machete.





	Another Little Bit

Della. A fox. A rotten fox. The species that lives in caves and forts, and attacks the innocent and fights amongst themselves and is never truly peaceful.

Della. Albino. Bright white and satin streak grey and not allowed outside because her rare and beautiful fur would only bring trouble. Kept inside and never taught to fight like her brother and sisters, only to cook and make clothing and sharpen weapons, and sing.

Della. The only one living after sickness killed her brothers and sisters. Kept hidden away even more securely then before.

Della. Sick of living in a cave, fur dirty and red eyes straining to see through the gloom. Nothing but dusty clothes to wash with fresh water that wells from a spring in the back of the cave, the only place she truly likes. Nothing but dusty clothes, dull blades, and echoing songnotes in a dreary place she's trapped in.

Della. Running away, in the winter, so her white and grey blends with the shadowed snow at night, only her reflective red eyes and offwhite cloak to give her away. She makes it, though, runs to the nearest road with her absence unnoticed, and is long gone by sunrise.

Della. Stopping by the roadside to ask some squirrels directions only to be chased away with accusations and claims that she's a trickster.

Della. Gathering more and more accusations by the day. Hopelessly lost and wandering blindly, sleeping in holes in the ground or tucked unnoticed behind trees, missing fresh water wells in caves and regretting ever leaving.

Della. Eyes hardening after one too many accusations, and plans for revenge bursting into existance in the back of her mind. She's never thought of such terrible things before, but if everyone expects it.... she may as well give them what they want.

Della. Licking blood from her chops and swinging and old rusty machete. It's not her blood.

Della. Still asking for help and directions, guilt and regret heavier in her mind then ever before. Still being turned down though, and the dark, disgusting, nasty part of her that abdolutely horrifies her sweet soul, growing bigger and stronger.

Della. Talking to another fox, one of the few she's seen since she left her family. He smirks at her, and she smiles back, and the moment his dirty paws touch her satiny white haunches, his head flies off, and she's left swinging a newer, cleaner machete through the air. She has no intention of associating with someone as filthy as him. But she keeps his tail, and washes it and hangs it from her belt. He may have been dirty, but even she admits that he certainly had tail.

Della. Wandering into a familiar clearing, and then along a familiar path until she reaches a painfully familiar cave. She creeps up and watches as a family of rats spills out, grinning nastily. She notices soft red fox fur hung around the fathers hips and the mothers shoulders, and blinks her wide red eyes in astonishment.

Della. Slitting the throats of a rat family as they sleep, and pausing to drink from a fresh water well before she leaves, red furs adorning her white body. They're her parents furs anyways; they'd have wanted her to have them.

Della. Back to wandering. She could not stand to live with the rat corpses sharing the same cave after all, and besides; she's outgrown her irrational love of cool fresh waters that well up in the depths of caves. Any other water tastes just as sweet to her, and she would rather forget then tarry there in her old home with all those unwanted memories.

Della. Staring up, slack jawed and wide eyes at rusty reddish brick walls and glorious stonework. Pity they would never allow a fox inside. No one ever does. 

Della, gleeful when they do. Most of the mice and squirrels and moles inside look at her strangely, and the otter who offers to wash her clothes looks horrified and revolted when she gives her the fox furs and tails that she's collected over the years of wandering. But the mouse who introduces himself as the abbot welcomes her warmly, and the old female badger only eyes her a bit, so she accepts it as better then she's had in years. And it also helps that there's cordial in addition to fresh water.

Della. Amazing the residents of Redwall Abbey with her abilities to sew and wash, and her clear singing voice. Some of them will always find it offputting that she continues to wear the skin of her own species, but she ignores them. And no one ever asks why she occasionally leaves for days on end, only to return with a brand new red pelt to wear. Instead they only shudder and look away, and pretend that the little ones don't love to listen to her whistle.

Della. Pursued, but not in a bad way. A young otter has recently made her aquaintance, and now tells her he will make her his mate. Tells her that he loves her white fur, penchant for sharp blades, and sly smiles, and finds even her other-fox furs to be just as charming as her needlework. She only smiles at him and tells him to wash his paws and keep them to himself for now. Her last suiter did not meet a very good end, after all.

Della, playing with little mice and baby otters, and struggling not to meet the eyes of Owin, her self-proclaimed suitor. She fails, but cannot bring herself to regret seeing his eager to please grin and foolishly sparkling eyes. He may be a few seasons younger then her, but she's so hopelessly flattered by his smiles and stammered compliments that she deigns to sit with him at the next feast.

Della, snickering even as she accepts the drooping dandelion Owin has offered her. His antics, she feels, will never cease to amuse her. But she's sure that she can do better. She gives him a kiss on the cheek before dissapearing for a few days, and when she returns, she hands him a necklace make of fox and rat teeth, and obtains a kiss of her own.

Della. Now with a dandelion almost always tucked behind one white ear and with a chest full of offwhite cloaks and red furs, still living in the abbey. But others have been giving her upset looks and angry glances recently, and even if she's been happy for this ling, she knows those looks and the signs they are. Her budding courtship with Owin has not gone unnoticed, and it is less then appreciated. 

Della. Leaving the abbey, a wagon containing all of her posessions dragged behind her and one last crown of dandelions on her head, smushed and drying because it's from tthe night before. She has told no one but the abbot and the old female badger of her departure, partly for the sake of not being chased out sooner, and partly because she does not want Owin trying to convince her to stay. One look into twinkling eyes and she would. And the creatures of Redwall Abbey have already been kinder to a fox then she would have ever expected.

Della. Back to before, to her old ways. Asking for help, and always turned away. When someone bothers her, she takes care of them with her sharp blades, one her machete and the other a dagger, gifted from the abbot as a parting gift, along with a sad look and advise to only use it if needed. She tries.

Della. Confronted after what seems like endless seasons by an otter male who looks vaguely familiar, who wears a necklace of teeth around his neck. Her red eyes soften, and she accepts his kiss, and sleeps beside him that night, her white fur glowing under star and moon light.

Della. Living in a cave that's almost identical to the one she grew up in, down to the little well in the back, but minus the rat skeletons. Kept company by a slightly younger otter male, who still unfailingly brings her dandelions  
along with freshly caught fish for dinner. And who now wears a fox fur kilt around his hips, to match his bride's.

Della. Della and Owin. Dead. Died of old age, just a few days apart, but seemingly with worlds between them. One a murderer of nearly a hundred by the time of her death, and the other still an innocent, eager to please little kit at his heart. 

Della. A fox. A rotten fox. The species that lives in caves and forts, and attacks the innocent and fights amongst themselves and is never truly peaceful.

Della. The epitome of the saying, the only good fox is a dead fox. But at least she was better then some others.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel so bloody guilty about not writing anything recently, but frankly I've just not been in the mood. But I'm thinking of maybe writing another Redwall fic and just making this a series. And I'll try to get Ren to write something, or at least put up something old. So forgive me?
> 
> Anyhow, until those things happen and I update Fairy Lights and Freak Bites, here, have another sociopathic murderer vermin that falls in love with someone who's not even her species. Seriously, what's up with that? But she'd have killed another fox and I couldn't think of anybody but an otter who would appreciate her sharp and pointy machete or a tooth necklace. So, otter it was. I'll try to get my next character to like his own species, though. Fear not.
> 
> Alrighty then, that's all for tonight, folks. Have yourselves a lovely day or night, depending on where you are, and a Merry Christmas too, even though it's not even the correct season, I just wanted to say that. Byeeee!


End file.
